Shattered: Moments Unread
by Stabson
Summary: One-shots of the moments that you didn't get to read in the original story "Shattered". If you haven't read that, then this probably won't make sense to you. E/O, obviously :
1. Chapter 1

A/N: One-shots of the moments unwritten from Shattered. What can I say, I love this story too much to let it go.

* * *

All the lights in the apartment were off. The bright red numbers on the alarm clock read 2:22 A.M… Elliot was laying in bed, but his eyes were wide open. They were moist with unshed tears as he stared up at the ceiling. He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep for the life of him. He hadn't been able to since that day a month and a half ago when he lost the three most important things in his life.

He sighed shakily, and rolled onto his side. His eyes closed, just for a second, and he was thrown into a vision.

He was sitting on a bench on a sidewalk next to an intersection, watching all the cars go by. And then he saw _his_ car, with his wife and daughters sitting in it. He stood as the sedan started to cross the intersection… suddenly, he saw another car flying from an opposite direction.

Elliot moved towards the street, thinking somehow that if he was closer to them, then it wouldn't happen. But it did, just like in all the other nightmares. The car hit his sedan, and all's he could hear was the shattering of glass, the sound of metal colliding, the screeching of tires. Then he saw them. His girls, slumped over, bleeding, gone from the world.

The scene changed, and he was looking at their pale faces, laying on metal slabs in the morgue.

His eyes snapped open, and he shook his head, sitting up. The tears started to fall, and he let his face dropped into his hands. God, he hated this so much. He hated having these nightmares that plagued him even when he was awake, he hated all this pain, and he hated, dear god he _hated_ that he had to lose them.

He couldn't stand just laying there anymore. So he got up, threw on some clothes, and he was out of there.

It was cold outside… but he barely felt it. He was numb to everything except the pain in his heart. Without really thinking, his pace quickened. He jogged, then ran, and then sprinted, not because he knew where the hell he was going, but because he was trying to escape the truth, trying to escape all the pain.

Of course, it didn't work, and he was left breathing heavily with an ache in his side. He was so tired that he felt as if he was going to collapse, but he knew that if he went back to his apartment, he would not be able to sleep. Hell, he wouldn't even be able to close his eyes. So he just kept walking.

Walking, until he found himself walking up the steps of a stone church, and entering it. He moved down the aisle, and collapsed into one of the pews, feeling tears slid down his cheeks. Nothing mattered anymore. Not his job, not his life, not anything. The tears blinded him, and in the empty church, with no eyes on him except those of God, he fell apart.

Sobs were ripped from his chest, and he lowered his forehead to rest on the back of the pew in front of him, the tears falling from his eyes and landing on the floor below him.

"Why?" he whispered, not talking to himself, but the being that was supposed to live in this building. He raised his head, and looked up at the cross mounted on the wall, "Why did you do this? They were innocent, they were little girls for Christ sake," his voice cracked on the last word, and new tears fell, "They were _my_ little girls. And you took them away. I want them back. I _need_ them back."

He dropped to his knees, and gripped the pew in front of him tightly, "You should have taken me instead. Why didn't you take me?"

He had fallen apart. His heart was shattered in his chest. He couldn't feel anything but pain, he couldn't see anything but his daughters, and his wife… When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse from crying, and soft from agony.

"I know I didn't deserve them. They were perfect, they were angels on Earth. B-but I had them. They were mine. Was this punishment? I-is that why you took them from me? Huh?" a sob escaped his lips, and he whispered brokenly, "Th-they should hate me. Lord knows I do."

He lowered his forehead back down onto the wood, and sobbed until the tears were gone and the only things left were his dry sobs.

It was three-thirty when he finally stumbled out of the church, and closed the door behind him. His eyes were red and puffy, and his throat was raw from crying. He walked down the steps, and started back the way he came, not really wanting to go back to the apartment, but knowing that he had no where else to go.

He saw an open drugstore on the corner, and walked towards it, not quite knowing why. The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the counter, looking at a guy maybe twenty years old, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but there. "Can I help you, man?"

"Yeah," he answered, coming back to reality, "Give me… give me a pack of Marlboros."

The boy nodded, and turned to grab a pack of the cigarettes, "Here you go."

Elliot paid, and walked out of the store, opening the pack. He shoved one of the cigarettes into his mouth, and lit it with a shaking hand.

He walked back to the apartment, smoking as he went.

By the time the next morning rolled around, the pack was empty, and he felt just a little bit better.

* * *

A/N: I know, first chapter's really sad. The next chapters will start to get better, I promise! Review if you like this idea, and if you've read Shattered, review this with an idea of something that you would like to read that wasn't in the story. I'd be glad to write it for you guys!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's the next chapter… this one has Olivia in it! Enjoy.

* * *

Elliot was standing on the roof, looking down at the city. His eyes were red and puffy, there was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was clutching the railing tightly with both hands. It had been a hard day… a hard case. The victims were so young… two little girls, ages eight and eleven. They reminded him so much of Maureen and Kathleen that it was almost unbearable. They were kidnapped, abused… and the man that did it, a friend of their family, had just been acquitted that afternoon.

Elliot hadn't been able to take it. So he went up to the roof, lit a cigarette, and started crying. He sighed shakily, and blew a puff of smoke out of his nose. God, this sucked.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard the voice of his partner, "Elliot, are you okay?"

They had been on speaking terms for only a short while, but she was starting to be able to tell when something was bothering him… He either acted like even more of an ass, or came up here to the roof. These were on of those times. She knew that he was upset.

"I'm fine," he told her, turning his head away so she couldn't see his pain. He didn't want her to see him like this… he didn't trust her to.

"You're lying," she said gently, "Talk to me, Elliot. I can help you if you just talk to me."

He shook his head, "No… y-you can't…"

"How do you know that?" Olivia asked, "Talking won't make you feel any worse. I promise you that."

He couldn't talk to her. He just _couldn't_. He'd been bottling it up, keeping it inside for so long that he didn't know how to let it out. He couldn't rely on anyone except for himself, because he didn't- he _couldn't_ let anyone else break his heart, intentionally or unintentionally.

"I can't do that, Elliot," she said gently, resting a hand on his back, "I know you're hurting. You have to let people in so they can help you. So _I_ can help you."

Tears started to stream down his cheeks, and he shook his head. He took the short, stub of a cigarette out of his mouth, dropping it onto the cement, and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket to grab the pack. Her hand gently took his wrist, stopping him.

He turned to look at her, surprised, and she spoke. "Don't. They won't help you, Elliot. They won't make the pain go away."

"They help," he choked out on protest.

"For how long?" she asked. He bit his lip, and lowered his eyes, not wanting to answer. So, she asked the question again, "How long do they help?"

He shook his head, and whispered so soft that she had to lean in to hear him, "Not long enough. Not long enough at all."

"Exactly," she said, not condescending, not angry, a gently voice, like a mother talking to her child, "Smoking won't make you better. Talking will. It's going to be okay, just let me in. I can help you. I promise I can help you."

He leaned against the railing, and sunk to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest. She sat next to him, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"They reminded me of…" he swallowed, closing his arms around his knees."Maureen and Kathleen."

Her gaze softened, and he noticed it immediately. He scooted away from her slightly, remembering why exactly he felt like this. It was easier to just not care… it was less painful. He wouldn't have to worry about getting hurt anymore, the only one that could hurt him was himself, and he wouldn't do that.

Olivia recognized the expression on his face, and pulled her hand away, knowing that she wouldn't get anything else out of him. If she tried, she would just push him even further away, and she didn't want that. It was hard enough trying to get him to trust her now. One wrong move, and she would lose him, and she would have to start all over again. If he even let her.

"Okay," she said softly, "I won't push you anymore."

He nodded gratefully… he couldn't talk anymore. Somewhere, deep down, he knew that she was just trying to help, but the pain and the fear just wouldn't go away. He couldn't make it go away.

"Thank you for telling me that, Elliot," she told him softly, "I know that it's hard for you to open up. I respect that. But I want you to know that if you want to talk some more… I'll be glad to listen. I won't judge."

Elliot nodded again, but did not look up at her. He didn't want to talk, he was afraid that she might have just lied to him, that she _would_ judge him. He didn't want her to know that he was weak… he didn't want her to know that he was crumbling on the inside. But somehow, it felt good to know that someone cared about him. In a good way, or a bad way, he wasn't sure. But someone cared about him.

She pat him on the shoulder, and stayed silent for a few minutes before speaking, "Well, I'm gonna go back downstairs. You take as long as you need up here, okay?"

"Yeah," he answered hoarsely, and she gave him a small smile, glad that he had said even that one word to her.

Olivia stood up, leaving him to his thoughts. He sighed, and reached into his jacket to grab a cigarette. Elliot stood, taking a long drag of his white stick, resuming the act of gazing down at the city below him.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please drop a review and let me know what you think! Also tell me what you would like to read next. I'm willing to take any of your suggestions. It's up to you guys!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hey, guys. This chapter, Olivia tries to help Elliot. Will he accept it?

* * *

The bar was loud and filled with cigarette smoke. It was filled with mostly off-duty cops. One, in particular, was sitting at the bar, right in the process of drinking himself into oblivion. Elliot sighed as he polished off another glass of scotch, and signaled the bartender for another. It came quickly, and he held it with both hands, staring down into the clear liquid.

He was moderately drunk, headed towards completely wasted territory. But he wasn't drunk enough in his own opinion. He wanted to drink until he couldn't remember the reason he was upset in the first place. He wasn't there yet, though… he could still remember the case. A little boy… eleven years old. He had been assaulted by his soccer coach several times… enough to make the boy terrified of everything around him, even his own parents. All's he would do was sit in his room on his bed with the door closed.

The coach made bail, and the first thing he did was go to the boy's house and slit his throat. Tommy Fula was gone, and the coach went away for murder. They couldn't even get him on the abuse. It wasn't fair… but nothing was fair.

He downed the drink, and the bartender, knowing that that Elliot was going to ask, replaced it with another glass. The detective nodded at him gratefully, and took a sip. An alcoholic haze had settled over his mind… he was glad. Soon, the pain would be gone. He sipped again, and sighed, leaning forward to rest his head in his hand.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and saw Olivia looking at him softly. He turned back to his drink, and finished it, not acknowledging her.

"Another?" the bartender asked, looking at Elliot, having noticed the woman standing next to him.

"He's all set," Olivia said. The boy shrugged, and nodded, moving on to his other customers. Olivia sat next to him, "What are you doing, Elliot?"

"Waz it look like?" he answered, his speech slurred, waving at the bartender, trying to get him over so he could order another drink, sink a little deeper. Olivia pulled his hand down lightly, "I think you've had enough."

Elliot shook his head, and was it with a sudden wave of dizziness, "N-not yet… c-can still remember…"

"Remember what, Elliot?" she asked gently, lowering her head, trying to get him to look her in the eye.

He sighed shakily, and pushed the glass away from him, not wanting to answer, not thinking clearly enough to answer. She waited for a second, seeing if he would say something or not, but he didn't. She took a deep breath, "Come on. I'll take you home."

Olivia took his arm, and started to guide him out of the bar. He didn't fight… he was too tired and drunk to fight. She opened the passenger side door of her car for him, and he got in without the word. He leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes. Olivia got in, and started the car. He felt the car start to move, and his eyes opened. The world around him was blurry, and it was spinning.

"You okay?" Olivia asked, glancing at him.

"How'd you find me?" he asked, staring straight ahead, ignoring her question.

"The captain," she answered, "You gonna answer my question now?"

"Not really," he said truthfully, leaning back. She sighed softly, and concentrated on driving. Who was she kidding? She didn't know what she was doing, she had no idea how to help him. What was she supposed to say to him?

Elliot sat silently, waiting for her to say something to try and make him feel better. He knew that she would… deep inside, he wanted her to.

"I don't know what to say, Elliot," she said softly, "I'm sorry."

No response. She sighed. Of course. She turned to look at him, and saw a broken man sitting next to her. It hurt her deeply to see someone like this… all's she wanted to do was fix him. But she knew that it would be hard, and it would take a while. She would be patient.

They pulled up in front of his building, and she turned off the ignition. She got out of the car, waited for him to do the same, and she kept a hand on his back to keep him steady as they walked into the building together.

As soon as they walked into the apartment, Olivia guided Elliot into the bedroom, "Get some rest, El. You need it."

He didn't fight her. He laid down, and she tucked him in. He passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. She went to the doorway, turned the light off, and just watched him sleep for a few minutes. Then, she closed the door softly, stepping into the living room.

It was so impersonal, she realized as she looked around. There were no pictures on the walls, no touch of his personality at all. Just walls and furniture. This wasn't a home. It was just the place that he went to eat and sleep.

Barely even eat, she realized as she opened his fridge. There was some Chinese takeout boxes, some vegetables, and beer. Lots and lots of beer. She sighed softy, and let it close. She thought that maybe he was an alcoholic… no normal man had that much beer in his fridge.

But he wasn't normal. He'd lost everything… she wasn't very surprised; she couldn't blame him for wanting to drink and smoke the pain away.

She walked back into the living room, and sat down. If she was right about how drunk he was, he would need someone to take care of him. And she would be there. No matter what.

* * *

When Elliot woke up, he felt like shit. He looked around, and realized he was home… but how did he get there? The last thing was sitting at the bar, getting wasted. He couldn't have driven.

He sat up, and his head pounded painfully. He blinked hard, feeling a wave of nausea pass through him. This was the worst part of drinking… the morning after. He stumbled out of bed, and into the bathroom. He looked like shit, he realized, he realized as he looked into the mirror. He suddenly felt nauseous again, and leaned over, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.

When he was finished, he flushed it, and collapsed against the vanity, sighing shakily as he closed his eyes.

"El?" she heard from the doorway, and he was instantly confused. Who was there with him…? He opened his eyes, and saw Olivia in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"I brought you home last night," she told him gently, "I wanted to stay and make sure you were okay."

"Oh. Well, I'm fine," he said, resting his head against the vanity.

Olivia shook her head, gazing at his face, which conveyed a mix of pain, sorrow and exhaustion, both physical and mental, "You're a liar."

He shrugged a single shoulder, "You're right."

"Why don't you tell me the truth, then?" she asked, sitting against the bathtub.

Elliot shook his head, "Because it won't make any difference. Eventually you're gonna leave. Either burn out of SVU, or realize I'm not who you think I am, that there's nothing else in me besides what you already see. I'm not going to change if you try and help me, I'm not going to bloom into this beautiful person like you think I will. This is it."

"I don't believe you," she answered, shaking her head, "There's something else inside you. Something good, something that you should just let out. But even if I'm wrong… I don't need anything else from you. I'll be your friend no matter what."

"Why?" he whispered, looking up at her.

She shrugged her shoulders, looking fondly at him, "Because everyone deserves someone that cares about them. No one deserves to be alone. You don't have to give anything back… except your trust. All's I want is for you to trust me."

Elliot lowered his eyes, "Caring only leads to pain. Trust is just another way to let yourself get hurt. It's better to not care about anyone."

"What about your wife?" Olivia asked, "If you didn't care about her, your daughters would have never been born."

"They died anyway," Elliot answered, "Maybe it would have been better if they hadn't been."

Olivia shook her head, "I know you don't really believe that."

"You don't know anything."

"I know you don't deserve to suffer like you've had to."

Elliot looked up at her with glistening eyes, "Why not?"

She scooted closer to him, placing both hands on his shoulders, looking directly into his eyes, "Because _no one_ does."

He was silent for a minute, then lowered his eyes, feeling a tear run down his cheek, and hating himself for it, "Then why did it happen?"

"You think there was a reason?"

"Everything happens for a reason," he told her, and shuttered, "Who was I kidding? I didn't deserve them."

Her heart broke at his words. He couldn't really think that, could you? She answered, "If you really believe that deep down, then your right. You didn't."

He looked up at her, and she saw a pained expression on her face. So she said more, "They deserve more than a man so insecure about himself. You love them, don't you?"

Elliot nodded immediately, "More than anything."

"Then you should know that your love was enough. You should know that they didn't want anyone but you. You were all they needed, all they could ask for and more."

"I should have done better," he whispered.

"You did all you could," Olivia told him, "You're not Superman, Elliot. You're only human. You couldn't be perfect, and no one could ask you to be."

He sniffled, feeling tears threaten to fall, "If… if I'm only human, then…"

"Then you're allowed to cry," she told him gently, "You're allowed to feel, allowed to want someone to care about you. I know that's what you want deep down. Stop trying to fight it."

He looked up at her, tear tracts glistening on his face, "You really…?"

She nodded, smiling gently at him, "I really do. And that won't change. Just trust me. Let me care about you."

His chest started to heave in slight, half-sobs, "You won't…?"

Olivia squeezed his shoulders gently, "Never."

"What if I don't believe you?" he asked, finding it harder and harder not to break down.

"Then you let go anyway," she answered, "And hope that you're wrong."

He stared at her for a second, half-crying already, and made his decision, "I believe you."

And he fell into her embrace, and she held him as he let it all out.

* * *

A/N: God, I loved writing this. Don't worry, guys, they'll be happy together soon. Remember, review with what you want to see that you didn't see in Shattered already. I'd love to read your suggestions.


End file.
